


Of Birds and Snakes

by theplushfrog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, Fluff, HP: Epilogue Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-28
Updated: 2009-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplushfrog/pseuds/theplushfrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was one of those cold nights. One of those where your toes turn numb and your fingers shake before you realize how long you've been sitting still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Birds and Snakes

It was one of those cold nights. One of those where your toes turn numb and your fingers begin to shiver before you realize how long you've been sitting still. And then, later on, you grasp, as your mind begins to feel fuzzy, that you still haven't moved even though you should have long ago. It's far too cold a night for sitting still, yet your mind still wanders and soon it drifts away—your limbs feel numb and tired and cold begins to lull you to sleep…

The boy looks up from his notes—sloppy but careful, for O.W.L.s are soon—into the dark fireplace, his thoughts drifting to wonder vaguely how long it has been out.

He digs a knuckle into the socket of his bright green eyes and cracks his jaw with a yawn. Surely he hasn't been here for very long, he thinks to himself, but the stiffness and cold in his limbs say otherwise.

Across from him, a blond-haired boy looks up from his notes—neat and proper, studious to his birdish bones—and asks, "Albus, are you finished for the night?" Scorpius has his thin legs tucked underneath him, sitting straight and stiff like eagle watching its field, his blue and silver sweater tugged down and stained with ink from his quill. He doesn't ask if the other has finished his notes, because he knows better, but rather if the boy has given up for the time being.

The dark-haired boy doesn't answer. His green eyes blink slowly—like, perhaps, a snake.

Instead, the small boy wiggles from his spot on the armchair, stretching, than hisses at the cold spots revealed from this motion. Tugging his sweater over his fingers, the Slytherin boy shifts over to the couch, which the light-haired boy is settled upon. Tucking his frozen hands into icy sleeves, the boy curls up, tucked up against the other—gathering up any warmth he can. The eagle and the serpent, natural enemies, yet, here, somehow…

"Warm." The green-eyed boy murmurs as an explanation, and Scorpius raises a pale brow.

"Albus," The Ravenclaw begins sternly, but trails off as a soft sound from his companion lets him know that the boy is far beyond reach, in the world of dreams, already. Instead Scorpius sighs and adjusts his narrow glasses, careful not to disturb the warm boy beside him, "Stupid cold-blooded Slytherins." He grumbles softly but fondly, as he runs a hand through the dark locks of his friend.

As the light-haired boy settles back into his work, he drapes one arm over the other boy, as an eagle might shelter a serpent under its wing.


End file.
